


The Punishment Room

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Desperation, M/M, Spanking, Student Sherlock, Teacher John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naughty boys at Stoneley's School for Young Gentlemen are sent to the Punishment Room, made to mount a whipping horse and spanked by the teacher on duty.</p><p>For some reason Sherlock always misbehaves when Doctor Watson is on duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Punishment Room

Punishment at Stoneley's School for Young Gentlemen took place promptly at five, ten minutes after lessons finished. At this time on an autumn evening it was already dark as Sherlock made his way to the Punishment Room, a small pavilion at the far end of the grounds away from the main school buildings. The side door was ajar when he arrived but the building was in darkness except for a gleam of light glimmering from under the storeroom door.

Boys were always given time to think while they were waiting, sometimes as long as fifteen minutes in the dimly lit room, plenty of time to meditate on what was about to happen, and after their first few times they soon learned what was expected.

The Punishment Room housed only a chair on which the unfortunate miscreant placed their clothes, a locked cupboard and a whipping horse. The horse itself was an old gymnasium model modified for the purpose, with a padded leather top and splayed out thick wooden legs sitting on a rubber mat. They always set it fairly tall, high enough off the ground to keep boys on tiptoe, or even to get their feet off the floor. In this position with the body well forward they could kick and twist without hindrance, legs splayed and bare tummy wriggling frenetically across the rough leather top. Rumour had it that the combined stress of fear and pain had caused more than boy to lose his self control while on the horse, surrendering the contents of his bladder and urinating uncontrollably. A second, more secret rumour, said that some had followed this humiliation with a further even more shameful lapse, the friction of their swollen cock rubbing against the hot sodden leather driving them to involuntary, shuddering orgasm even as the cane punished their quivering flesh.

The teachers’ response to these transgressions was never specified; too horrible to imagine.

Sherlock tried hard to avoid thinking about the heavy pressure in his groin while he slipped quietly out of his school uniform. Doctor Watson was on duty tonight he remembered, feeling a sudden tightening of his buttocks. All the masters took their turn at chastising the boys, but Watson had an unerring aim and a doctor’s understanding of how best to apply a gym shoe to a boys’ backside which made him particularly feared. Sherlock winced at the thought of what was in store as he dropped his thick serge trousers down to his ankles, quickly stepping out of the unnecessary garment. He lost no time in pulling his shirt over his dark unruly hair and in a few moments was standing naked apart from the ridiculously brief cotton school shorts stretched tight over his bottom.

A steady step in the corridor alerted him that someone was outside. There was a pause as they locked the outer door to the pavilion. He realised with a shock Watson was early and he barely had time to prepare himself for his teacher’s arrival. With a tiny sigh he jogged up to the horse and hauled himself up across its high leather back. He wriggled his torso forward across the padded leather top until his toes were just resting on the rubber floor mat, his legs spread apart exactly as Watson liked them and his knees bent in towards the horse to throw his round cheeks into full prominence. Like all the staff Watson had his little whims, and two previous painful visits to the Punishment Room had taught Sherlock his lesson. Though the position squeezed his bladder painfully, there would be no complaints that he hadn't stuck his bottom out.

He lay tense and nervous listening to the steady advance of footsteps down the corridor and the squeak as the door handle turned, followed by the faint cool rush of air as the door opened and shut. A light switch clicked, and the room was illuminated brightly. Two focussed spot-lights converged on the horse and he tried to imagine what Watson was seeing: thus mounted his position was both revealing and helpless, showcasing his half-exposed buttocks and the thin shorts moulded to them. His position over the horse had pulled them well up over the two round mounds of his bum so that the legs cut high across his bare cheeks and pulled the seam taut into the deep cleft that divided his behind. The separation of his thighs displayed the shape of his balls, tight and high to his body in trembling anticipation. Quite unconsciously his thighs began to squirm at the thought of what was about to happen.

Some of the teachers liked to pause before punishment to draw out the agony, but Watson preferred a more direct approach. Without speaking, he unlocked the cupboard and took out an item, his favourite gym-shoe. He slapped the sole across his palm a few times experimentally. Sherlock winced as each 'smack' echoed round the almost empty room and winced again when Watson rested the cool sole across the trembling lower slopes of his quivering bottom.

“Talking in class _again_ , Mr Holmes?” Watson said dryly. “This is getting to be a habit.”

“Sir,” Sherlock managed through dry lips.

“Disobedience, insubordination, theft of school property-”

“Borrowing,” said Sherlock in a small voice.

“Outside after lights out,” continued Watson as though he hadn’t spoken, “and impersonation of a police man.”

“Sir.”

“A policeman?” said Watson after a pause.

“Sir.”

There was another pause as though Watson was hoping for an explanation but Sherlock had none he was prepared to admit and simply closed his eyes and pressed his face harder into the worn leather of the horse.

“All right,” said Watson. “You’ll have two dozen and think yourself lucky it’s not more.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

The first smarting crack of the shoe hit him squarely across the roundest curve of his cheeks, delivered so hard that he nearly leapt off the horse. Sherlock gave a gurgling gasping yelp and his stricken bottom did a frantic dance. Somehow he never remembered just how stingy the doctor’s beatings could be. Watson paused, letting him feel the pain then the shoe landed once more, two centimetres higher. This time Sherlock’s yelp was louder, more urgent, and his writhing more frenzied, punishing his swollen bladder cruelly. Watson continued to whack his bum as he cried out, hard firm sharp whacks of the pump full across both cheeks, delivered with just enough pause between the strokes to let the pain reach up to Sherlock’s brain and register as mounting anguish. After twelve strokes his buttocks were leaping and squirming at each whack and his thighs were twisting around on the horse, slippery with sweat.

So sore and stingy was his bottom, he put up only a feeble token protest when Watson tugged the shorts down to just above his knees, and widened his thighs as much as the lowered shorts would allow at the terse command. For the next minute or two all that could be heard in the room was the hard slap of rubber on skin interspersed with the Sherlock’s gasps as he got a round dozen more on the bare before Watson dropped the shoe.

Firm hands began to squeeze at his buttocks, and Sherlock's hot sore cheeks cringed. For a moment he was terrified Watson was going to spank him further with his bare hand, as was his habit if he believed Sherlock’s cries were not contrite enough. Then with a sigh of relief he realised it was only cooling ointment being rubbed over the skin of his pink behind. It wasn't an unmixed blessing. Watson rubbed firmly, his palms were hard and the cream he used always stung before it soothed. As the cream began to tingle his tender buttocks, fanning the fiery red stingy sensations shooting up and down his thighs, he gritted his teeth and told himself firmly it was better than a spanking.

Eventually the pain subsided and became replaced by a more throbbing glow. He felt his thighs and buttocks relax, but the way Watson’s hands were sliding up and down his slippery thighs made him feel uneasy, fidgety, as though his tingling skin had grown suddenly too tight.

Without warning, blunt fingers parted his swollen red cheeks, easing buttocks apart to rub the hidden skin between. He gave a gurgle of protest but the punishment was only over when Watson decided it was and the doctor teased him for long minutes before exploring forwards to cup and roll Sherlock’s aching tight balls in one warm hand. The skin there was exquisitely sensitive to touch. Trapped painfully between his full belly and the hard leather pad of the horse, his budding erection swelled into sudden life and his nipples squeezed tight, yearning to be pinched. He felt an overwhelming desire to piss on Watson’s hand and knew he would be smacked hard and long if he allowed himself to indulge in any such naughtiness. The thought excited him further, making him harder yet. Watson’s hand moved to the root of his cock, his touch sure and certain, insistent fingers rubbing him into full turgidity. From there it took only a few short moments for Sherlock to reach the climax of his inevitable orgasm. Watson watched as he bucked up and down on the horse, long legs squirming with shamed excitement, then left him alone in the room with his thoughts.

Ten minutes later Sherlock put out the storeroom lights and crept down the darkened corridor rubbing gently at his still-smarting bottom. He already knew it wouldn’t be long before he found another excuse to visit Doctor Watson in the Punishment Room.


End file.
